


the dead don't die

by toliu



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hybrids, M/M, Minor Character Death, Power Dynamics, Romance, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Supernatural - Freeform, Vampires, henrik beaumont, henrik lives, hybrid henrik, issues of morality, pack mentality, pseudo names, teenwolf season 3b, the henrik mikaelson chronicles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29569806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toliu/pseuds/toliu
Summary: Henrik was just a name, but Henrik Mikaelson was so much more. Evidently, Henrik Mikaelson was dead so while the name meant much it could never be whispered. That is where Henrik Beaumont comes into existence.
Relationships: Henrik Mikaelson/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski/Original Character(s), Stiles Stilinski/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 12





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to what is dubbed the "Henrik Mikaelson Chronicles." In which, what if is an amazing question to have. There's going to be a lot of work around with how Henrik managed to survive past the werewolf attack that killed him when he was young but that'll all be explained in due time with plot magic. Be prepared for a lot of alterations to the plot of the vampire diaries and some events that had transcended namely a discussion of what happened to Ayana, Bonnie Bennett's ancestor who gave the immortality spell to Esther. Also, it'll be a lot of fun to contemplate over the "witches could never be both a witch and a vampire" discussion the vampire diaries loves to bring up every five seconds (in my opinion). 
> 
> word of warning I have not caught up to the later seasons of vampire diaries and will never want to.
> 
> young henry cavill (in the 2002 film the count of monte cristo) takes on the role of henrik mikaelson

> _Do not stand at my grave and weep  
>  I am not there. I do not sleep.  
>  I am a thousand winds that blow.  
>  I am the diamond glints on snow.  
>  I am the sunlight on ripened grain.  
>  I am the gentle autumn rain.  
>  When you awaken in the morning's hush  
>  I am the swift uplifting rush  
>  Of quiet birds in circled flight.  
>  I am the soft stars that shine at night.  
>  Do not stand at my grave and cry;  
>  I am not there. I did not die._

_[Mary Elizabeth Frye, Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep]_

Esther Mikaelson was a very good liar. The mother of seven had a life spun to the tune of carefully crafted lies beginning with her first daughter Freya and meaning to end with the bastard child Niklaus. That being said, there is a saying which mentions 'once a cheater, always a cheater' and as you would have it, Esther Mikaelson did not commit adultery once but twice, the outcome of said actions being her youngest child Henrik who was as much of a mistake that Niklaus had been. Born of her weak will and inability to remain faithful to a man who could very well have been a neanderthal brute from a skipped gene pool of humans who simply did not evolve enough.

Poor fate had Henrik Mikaelson die at age twelve and just like that Esther could evade the emergence of another lie. Henrik's death would take her sins to the grave with him, a mangled body and all.

Surprisingly, Ayana was also very good at lying.


	2. The Beaumont

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henrik was just a name, but Henrik Mikaelson was so much more. Evidently, Henrik Mikaelson was dead so while the name meant much it could never be whispered. That is where Henrik Beaumont comes into existence

When he was younger his mother used to give him odd looks no doubt influenced by the way he, like Niklaus, seemed to have no skill in magic. He'd spent twelve years waiting for the moment magic manifested itself into his blood as it hummed beautifully in Kol's. Even until his last breath he was a disgrace and no matter how much it seemed like his death influenced the motion of his mother's next actions it was not as impactful as they made it seem. Yes, they remembered him, held his final breath like a prayer but what more was there?

Ayana used to tell him that he was meant for something far greater than the shame his mother placed on him for not performing as Kol did, that his magic fluctuated much differently than anything anyone had ever seen. When oxygen rushed back into his lungs and blood rushed back to his heart so did the static energy of magic, _siphoning_ Ayana had called it and he was the first. 

Qestiyah foretold long ago of the disconnection of earth from witchcraft that threatened to reveal itself, a being to defy the pull of the spirits and act independently of all previous notions of what made a witch. What started with him could become more and thus the beginning of Siphoners sprung forward, witches who drew magic from supernatural beings to fuel a core of magic within themselves that did not supply itself with the earth. 

The first of a new breed furthered itself when Ayana performed the same spell on Henrik as she had given Esther, only this time it was not purposefully fragmented yet the Earth, so disconnected from him still saught revenge for the impure creation so he too became a monster. To be a siphoner was a curse for the impure actions of witches but vampirism fed off of that impurity and became something of its own entirely. 

Originals, as you would have it, are nothing but the first cursed beings in a great line of retribution of witch spirits, witches who cursed their own willingly without remorse. To be the first, an original, the first proprietor, the first of a long line of terrors, there was nothing special about it. Given that, Ayana made things better for Henrik, she did so much more than his absent mother could and loved him as if he were her own child because hers was torn out of her hands. 

Ayana was someone Henrik vowed to protect for all his seemingly immortal existence as payment for freeing him from the chains that shackled him down to a horrible life. 

In over a thousand years together nothing had come between the two of them until something did. Ayana had suddenly begun to lose her strong connection to the Earth, her body fading in and out of health far too often―she wasn't immortal of course she could die but it wasn't supposed to be like this. 

Centuries of remaining in France would be impossible now, not when the answers to what was happening continued to be unsaid. While Henrik was usually the one receiving magic from Ayana he now had to supply her with enough magic to sustain her strength for longer. It was working for now but it wouldn't be sustainable for her to live off another magic energy source, her innate makeup for magic was nothing like how siphoners worked and it would cause more harm than good. 

It was that very reason why they were moving into a new town where they may be able to find a way―or spell that would be able to rectify the state Ayana was in. She'd mentioned to him about an old informant she had met some years back who operated as a druid for the local werewolves in the town. The wolves in question functioned separately from the beings created by Inadu and more similarly reflected Lycans, at least that is what Ayana tells him on their drive. 

His eyes remain on the road while she spoke about what the town might offer them and while he does listen carefully his mind is focused centrally on the possibility of Ayana getting better. 

"Their bite will have no effect on vampires but they keep their strength even before the full moon," She murmurs watching trees flash by. "Although you will have to be careful, it is their belief that vampires have been extinct for centuries. The town has a Nemeton that prevents vampires from entering the grounds" When his gaze snapped towards her she rolled her eyes, "You'll be fine."

She breathed out and Henrik tried to ignore the way her breathing was uneven, "The Nemeton should provide enough magical energy to sustain you during our stay, you will probably not need to consume from outside sources but keep the witch blood handy."

Henrik nodded in understanding, peaking at the rearview mirror to the large cooler of charmed witch blood meant to keep his magic consistent. When the red Camaro passed the large city sign Henrik could feel a rush of magic surge and almost swerved the car at the intrusion. Vaguely he could hear Ayana laughing at him but the hum of magic made it hard to concentrate on the embarrassment she was shoving at him. 

"You weren't lying." He shook his head and cleared away the haze that pooled over his eyes, the last thing he wanted to do was crash the car. 

If siphoners had not been killed off Henrik thinks that they'd take every opportunity to make Beacon Hills into a permanent home for themselves. The thought alone caused a sour feeling in his throat, the only other living siphoner had been Malachai Parker and he had been dead for some time leaving Henrik as the only siphoner again. It wasn't as if he couldn't handle it, it had only been in the 1800s that another siphoner had been born of the Gemini Coven and since then only six others were born all soon meeting an inevitable fate of death. 

The Gemini Coven, Henrik never could forget them. Since his revelation of being a siphoner, only those of the Gemini Coven had followed the same fate as his not a single siphoner was born outside their coven. Henrik clenched his fists only relaxing when Ayana placed a hand on his own careful to not startle him.

"You'll break the wheel Henrik dear." She dropped her hand when the grip was loosened and gestured for him to take a right turn, "Pull up over there the house should be around the corner."

"Remind me again how you conveniently had a home in Beacon hills?"

Ayana shrugged and unbuckled her seatbelt when he pulled into the secluded house, "It was an old Bennett coven house."

Henrik didn't continue the conversation aware that speaking about the Bennett coven was a tense subject for Ayana. The older woman had only one other living Bennett witch who was a young girl named Bonnie and Henrik knew she feared that the Bennett's would soon phase out of existence. 

"Bring along your things Henrik, I'm going to be in the gardens."

He nodded and watched her walk off towards the dense gardens vaguely aware of the smell of vervain and sage in the soil. Stuffing the keys in his pocket he hummed a low tune and pulled out the thirty-pound cooler with ease, tucking it by his side before locking the car. Ruffling the strands of black hair that fell in his eyes Henrik turned to look around the neighborhood before following Ayana into the gardens. 

He set the cooler down on the deck before standing by her side in a sudden motion. Ayana, so used to him appearing suddenly didn't flinch but her hand brushing gently on his made him aware of her acknowledging him. She was fusing over a collection of lemongrass that was bleeding into pockets of wolfsbane and by the looks of things nothing was getting the plants to separate. Shaking his head at her he gave a sudden flick outwards causing the lemongrass to separate itself some distance away. 

Ayana laughed and patted his back, "I was thinking no magic but thank you."

He offered a shrug and walked down the stone path before pausing to stretch a hand for Ayana's. The older witch took his hand happily and set off towards the house with him, and when they made it inside, she nagged over how unready he was for his first day of school. They both knew there was no real reason to send him off to school but Ayana enjoyed the novelty of it far too much. Even then she hadn't had him attend high school in thirty years. 

"Hey," She started noticing his darkening expression. "This time might be worth it, that's all."

Henrik pinched his brows together and spoke in a quiet rush, "Did you have a premonition?" 

Rather than replying she gave him a slight shove before throwing a wolfish grin his way. Henrik smirked shaking his head, Ayana hadn't had a premonition since the death of Katerina Petrova in 1489 so it must have been important, he reasoned. 

He chased after her retreating form, "Fine, fine." 

In a quick snap a series of boxes tumbled to the floor and pulling his gaze towards her he pointed between her and the boxes, "Don't touch them, I'll be back to unpack. You can tend to the garden if you want but remember no magic from you."

She snorted, "Get going my darling son, don't make the school call me on your first day."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

It starts off alright, of course people stare much too often but all in all, Henrik thinks he'll be able to manage. It does become irritating when girls stumble into him on purpose to flutter their eyelashes but he's had worse. It's a mantra in his head to repeat 'I've had worse,' 'I've dealt with worse' but really nothing could compare to the pain of high school and the budding teenage infestation that comes along with it. 

Given that, he's managed to survive till the last period and was happily waiting for the moment he could head back to Ayana and complain how no one could pronounce 'Beaumont' properly. 

Twirling the pen in his hand around he stared absentmindedly outside watching the way the clouds began to darken in the sky. Frowning, he tried to remember if the forecast ever said anything about rain but it hadn't. The sound of chatter faded to a distant part of his mind instead, the sound of bird squawks came suddenly followed by the excessive flapping of wings―a lot of wings. 

The crows came all at once, tiny bodies beating against the windows smearing blood down to obscure the view from outside. It takes ten birds slamming against the glass before it gives under pressure, snapping and allowing the rest of the large flock to enter the classroom. When he uses his desk for cover Henrik distinctly remembers something that causes a prickling feeling down his spine, a flock of crows was more commonly called a murder. 

Ayana's premonitions had never been wrong so the omen of death barreling into him must have had some sort of meaning beyond causing trails of blood to pool onto the ground. Lore would have it that crows flock to the call of death where large masses will die and the number of crows corresponded to the amount of foreseeable death. 

Henrik swore under his breath. 


End file.
